Authors: William H. Lovejoy
Dokey was wearing a sweatshirt this morning. It was adorned with two’60s pelicans doing the twist. The’90s version of that shirt had the pelicans doing the Lambada.
“We’re not running a resort,” Thomas said.
“We’re supposed to be running a world-class organization,” Dokey countered.
“That doesn’t extend to catering the food service. Next. Jim Word wants some research done on the ingots and cannon barrel.”
“Send Brandie Anderson to the archives in Spain,” Brande said.
“You sweet on her?” Thomas asked him.
Dokey glanced briefly at both of them, then said, “He’s not, but I am.”
“The practical research experience will do more for her than a hundred hours of classroom time,” Brande said.
“A free trip to Spain for her? You know what that will cost? Oh, hell. Okay.”
“Did you work up an inspection schedule, Okey?” Brande asked.
“Yup. Right here.”
Dokey slid the paper across the table and Brande studied it for a few minutes. One of the enemies of oceanographic exploration was the sea itself. No matter how waterproof a compartment seemed to be, moisture crept in and corroded delicate electronics, causing shorts and outright failures. All of the ROVs and
DepthFinder
; though now considered prepared for service, would be inspected regularly, every six hours.
Dokey’s inspection chart listed the times, the primary inspector, the backup inspector, and the test equipment to be used. There were columns in which to pencil in initials and times of examination.
“Looks good, Okey. Go ahead and post it.”
“Okay, Chief”
Dokey slid out of his chair and took his mug of coffee with him.
“Hey, Dane!”
Larry Emry was at his contrived workstation in the first booth. In addition to his computer terminal, a telephone line and a radio transmitter had been added to the booth.
“What’s up, Larry?”
“I just talked to CINCPAC. The first transponder is in place. Dropped by the
Houston.
”
In keeping with the Navy’s search scheme, the submarines were going to plant transponders — emitting a recorded signal on four different frequencies — at each corner of the search area. Not only would they define the search region, they could be used to triangulate the position of each search vessel. Supplementing the Global Navigation System, the accuracy of the search would be enhanced.
“Did you get the frequencies?” Brande asked.
“Damn betcha. And I’ve got my final chart prepared. Do I ship it to the
Kane
?”
“I suppose so. Otherwise, I get court-martialed.”
“Can they court-martial a civilian?” Thomas asked.
“I doubt it, but I don’t put them above trying.” Dane called over the back of the booth, “And Larry, send it to CINCPAC, too.”
“How about the subs?”
“Yeah. Ask Pearl Harbor for contact frequencies, and when the subs come up for air or something, we’ll zip them some charts.”
“If we’re going that far,” Thomas asked, “should we include the Russians in our mailing list? And the Japanese?”
“Let’s hold off for now. Maybe we’ll need a bargaining chip later.”
Thomas had reached the last page of her notes.
“Anything else, Rae? I want to put everyone on sleep duty. They’ll need to get as much as they can before we go into action.”
“One item, Dane. On the workboats, Iʼm going to sell off
Priscilla
. We’ll use the proceeds to overhaul and retrofit
Cockamamie
and
Mighty
Moose
*
“Is that your final decision?” he asked.
“What?” Defensively.
“I think it’s great. Can we paint them white, with the yellow diagonal?”
“If we get enough money out of
Priscilla
.ˮ
“Not firing Bull Kontas?”
“He’ll retire soon, I suppose.” She gave him a lopsided grin.
Brande slid out of the booth. “If that’s it, Rae, Iʼm going to go tuck people in.”
“They won’t tuck very well in broad daylight,” she said. “Can we talk for a minute?”
“Sure.”
“Out on deck.”
Thomas rose from the bench seat, and he followed her out of the wardroom. She was wearing white deck shoes, white slacks, and a blue-and-white striped, bow-necked polo shirt. Her stride was very deliberate, countering the slight rise and fall of the deck. He found himself appreciating the taut fabric of her slacks.
Brande reached around her to open the door to the side deck, and they stepped out. The sun was bright, and the wind created by the speed of the ship was warm. It tousled her hair. Somewhat sensuously, Brande thought. To the west, the view was more dismal. Tall stratocumulus clouds reached for the sky, and their bases were dark and threatening.
Thomas turned and leaned against the railing.
He stepped close to her, so they did not have to shout over the breeze and the loud whisper of water passing the hull.
“About last night … ” she started.
“All right. What about last night?”
“Iʼm sorry I fell apart like that.”
“Nothing to be sorry about, Rae. All of us are frightened from time to time, and right now is a damned good time to be scared.”
“It’s certainly not the image I want to project as a manager.”
“Who’s to know?”
“Well, Okey…”
“In spite of popular belief, Okey is very tight-mouthed about the important things.”
Her mouth was barely touched with cinnamon lipstick. It suddenly looked inviting to Brande.
“Can I ask you a question? One that Iʼve always wanted to ask?”
“Sure.”
“Why won’t you call me Kaylene?”
Flash of blue-green water, so clear that he could see for a hundred feet. Yellow and orange and red streaking the seabed. Her eyes closing so slowly.
“My wife’s name was Kay. Janelle Kay. I guess I shy away from it.”
“Oh, my God!” Thomas’s hand went to her mouth. “I didn’t even know you were married, Dane.”
“She died on a dive in the Caribbean,” he said, trying to not relive it.
Her hand left her mouth and gripped his left forearm. “I’m so sorry, Dane. Sorry I brought it up, too.”
“I guess I assume that people know my history,” he said. “But Okey’s probably the only one who does. He doesn’t talk about it, and I’ve never felt a need to do so.”
The ship heeled to port a few degrees, and Brande took one step closer to her before he regained his balance.
“If I can be candid,” Thomas said, “that’s one thing that’s bothered me about you. About MVU.”
“What’s that?”
“You seem so open with everybody, and you’re usually in good humor. Everyone adores you. And yet, no one here really knows you. It makes you less…human, somehow. To me, anyway.”
Brande had to think about that for a little bit. It was probably true.
“I’m not trying to be critical,” she said.
He detected a whiff of her perfume. A trace of bougainvillea.
“Maybe Iʼm just programmed?” he told her. “Like
Atlas
?ˮ
“You’re sloughing it off.” Her other hand came up to grasp his upper arm. “But, Iʼll give up prying. I don’t want to be a snoop, and I don’t mean to be overly critical.”
“That’s okay. The president should know her people.”
“Even the boss?”
“Why not?”
Brande freed his arm, put it around her shoulders, and gave her a hug. He felt a trifle awkward doing it. He had never been the touchy type.
Then he turned back toward the door and reached out for the handle.
Looked up.
Connie Alvarez-Sorenson was standing on the port wing, looking down at them. She winked.
“Well,” Thomas said, “I can forget about Okey. There’s one mouth that’s difficult to control.”
*
1210 HOURS LOCAL, 29° 50' NORTH, 163° 28' WEST
“Your government fully expects that you will provide them with the latest data as it becomes available to you,” Mr. Sato said.
“That decision is not up to me,” Kim Otsuka said.
“You must make it so,” the consulate representative said. “Also, we will require a copy of the robot computer application program.”
“For which robot?” Otsuka asked.
After a moment’s hesitation, in which she was certain Mr. Sato was digesting the unexpected information that there was more than one robot, he said, “I will inquire further and then call you again.”
He hung up, and Otsuka slowly replaced her receiver in its cradle on the bulkhead intercom panel next to the booth in which she sat. It was the fourth of four booths, and it used to be the only one with a phone.
From the galley came the clank of pans as the two seamen on galley duty prepared lunch. Larry Emry was at his computer terminal, updating charts. Dane and Kaylene were in the booth behind her, after having been absent for a while, going over the accounts or something. Every once in a while, Dane protested something Kaylene wanted to do, but he seemed to make his protests lightheartedly.
Otsuka twisted around onto her knees and peered over the back of the bench seat. Kaylene was right below her, with a yellow notepad, pages of numbers, and a calculator spread around her. Dane was across the table, slumped back, with his feet up on the end of the U-shaped bench. His expression was one of half amusement, and Otsuka guessed that he was not taking this meeting with Kaylene seriously.
“May I interrupt?” Otsuka asked.
“God, yes!” Dane told her.
“I just talked to my consulate.”
Kaylene leaned over and looked back over her shoulder. “What’d they want?”
“They want me to provide them — actually, the
Eastern
Flower
—
With
any pertinent exploration data that we might develop.”
“I don’t have a problem with that,” Brande said. “We’re going to need all the help we can get, and it’s a hell of a lot better if we’re all working with the same information. Send them the updated charts, for a start.”
“They also want a copy of the operating program for a robot. They don’t know which one, but it’s probably Gargantua.”
“Hmmm,” Brande said.
“Bullshit!” Thomas added.
Various patents and copyrights within Marine Visions were shared in different ways. Gargantua’s structural design was shared by the company, Brande, Dokey and Dankelov. The electronics designs belonged to the company, to Dokey and to Mayberry. His programming belonged to the company, Otsuka and Polodka — twenty-five percent, fifty-five percent, and twenty percent, respectively. The company retained control of merchandising and production rights. Otsuka had thought the distribution policy a fair one since the company provided the research facilities and her salary.
“Why do you suppose they need the program?” Dane asked.
She had given it a speedy consideration. “I suspect that whatever robot they plan to use with their submersible is not yet operational. They’re trying to complete it en route.”
“And yet they’ve jumped right into this search?”
“Of course,” she said. “The publicity that will attach to anyone successful in the recovery is worth millions of dollars, Dane.”
“Would they take the risk of using an untested submersible and robot?” Kaylene asked.
“I do not know anyone at Hokkaido Marine Industries, but I imagine the answer is yes. They would view this disaster as an opportunity.”
Brande was watching her face closely, and Otsuka felt as if his gray eyes could see behind her own, could probe within her mind.
“Have you been threatened, Kim?” he asked.
She was glad that the relationships at MVU were so candid. Very little was ever hidden from another.
“Not directly,” she said. “It was implied that my passport could be revoked.”
“Give them the program,” he said.
“I’ll be damned if we will,” Thomas said. “Grab that phone and call Hampstead, Kim.”
*
1915 HOURS LOCAL, WASHINGTON, DC
“My plotting board looks like a live jigsaw puzzle,” Unruh said.
“Bet it looks just like mine,” Hampstead responded. “We’ve enlarged the display to show just the area of operations. I think it looks like a tag-team match, with about ten people on each team, and about ten teams.”
“I didn’t know you liked wrestling, Avery.”
“I don’t. Hate it.”
Unruh did not think he would pursue that line.
“Do you have any close friends in the State Department, Carl?”
“Of course not.”
“Just one?”
“Maybe. What’d you need?”
Hampstead told him about a problem with one of Brande’s scientists and her consulate.